


Sandman: Megatron III

by HSBacklash01



Series: Sandman [3]
Category: G1 - Fandom
Genre: Abandonment, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSBacklash01/pseuds/HSBacklash01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We're all afraid of something, whether we want to admit it or not...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandman: Megatron III

He found himself treading a corridor, his heavy steps the only sound in the desolate passage. Rust bloomed on the surface of every buckled wall; dust hung in the humid, cloying air. Surely this wasn’t his ship.It had to be a twisted prank, another jest to try his patience and command.  
And they had had the audacity to confiscate his weapon! Making down the hallways, he barked, “I order you to show yourselves!”  
His raspy voice and a steady dribble echoed in reply to the demand.

Reaching what he knew to be the rec room, he paused in the doorway and gaped. A majority of the floor had collapsed to reveal the deck below, shimmering with a mantle of oily water. He retraced his steps and hurried onward. Wrenching a door apart, he cautiously moved through.  
All the consoles in the former command center had been cracked and eviscerated, some of them blackened and contorted by fire. He fell into the twisted remains of his chair. “Where are they?” he whispered, then commanded of the carnage. “Where are they!” Had they thought him deactivated and abandoned him? No; they would not dare. What happened here? Were they all dead?

Returning to the corridors, he systematically endeavored to open a door, any door. None would yield to keypad or voice. He began to feel uneasy, refusing to acknowledge it was fear and panic. Was he entombed here? Hesitating, he pushed at the keypad on yet another entryway.  
To his astonishment, it silently retreated. He gasped at the vision on the other side: Cybertron. He cared not how; at least he was no longer imprisoned in the remains of the ship. Making his way along familiar streets, he beheld the restored buildings in some wonder. So: it was over. Figures shifted ahead in the distance, and he hurried angrily toward them. They would have much explaining to do, abandoning him in that way. His optics widened in alarm, and he hastened down an alley. Autobots! Going about without a care!

He paused until they had passed, then guardedly went toward the plaza before him. The statue presiding over it soured his tanks and produced a snarl to his face. If only he had his fusion cannon... Keeping to the edge of the buildings, he observed the design of them, then felt a cold chill run through his frame. They had won. How? How could they, his troops, who had sworn to crush them, let this happen? Unmindful of being discovered, he drifted to the center of the street.

Something caught his eye, and he turned, expecting to have to defend himself. It was his own reflection in the bright surface of a structure. Approaching it, he stumbled in horror. There, on his own chest, was an Autobot symbol.

He sat upright abruptly, looking around. The chair he sat in was whole and undamaged, as were the consoles of the command center.  
Standing and clenching his fists, he sighted down the weapon on his outstretched arm.

No. That would never, never happen...


End file.
